Anger never builds; it only tears down. In the heat of a single moment, it can feel like strength, an armor to hide behind. But when the fire fades, all that's left are the ashes of what once mattered. Anger doesn't solve anything-it devours patienc...
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You were the sunset I stayed to watch, even knowing the night would come.
Chapter 37: The Incident
The gathering had been billed as a modest afternoon reception that would stretch into the evening — a circle of clients, partners, and a scattering of polite acquaintances assembled under the warm light of chandeliers. For Jeon Junghyun it was an obligation dressed in civility: as the honored guest his attendance mattered, and he’d brought his wife at his side because that was what one did at an event that mattered to the family name.
Their son, only sixteen and wrapped up in a tournament, had refused the invitation; Junghyun had only shrugged and let him go. Jungkook had always been headstrong in his own way — fondly spoiled, not spoiled rotten.
They were midway through a course when a ripple of laughter and the scrape of high heels cut across the hall. Heads turned as a woman approached, her hair loose, her smile too bright and her movements a little unsteady. Jung Gaeul. She smelled faintly of perfume and something sharper underneath — whiskey, or some other hard drink. She was smiling too widely for the room.
“Miyeon!” she called, voice carrying easily in the hush. The name hung in the air like a challenge.
Miyeon’s hand stilled on her wine glass. She and Junghyun exchanged a glance — practiced, private — before Junghyun inclined his head and excused himself with a soft, “I’ll be back soon.” He rose, the room’s attention folding politely around them as he moved away.
Gaeul sidled until she stood near Miyeon, leaning in with the ease of someone who expected to be welcomed. On any other night, Miyeon might have smiled and tolerated the company of her sister; tonight, however, the line between tolerance and self-preservation had been drawn.
“Don’t worry,” Miyeon murmured to Junghyun when he hesitated. “I can manage her.” Her voice was gentle — the kind that could diffuse a scene — but there was steel in the set of her shoulders. She turned back to Gaeul with politeness that did not mask reproach.
Gaeul’s grin faltered only for a breath before she slid into her familiar rehearsed plea. “Miyeon, darling, I’m starting a new venture—just need a little capital to get it off the ground. Could you… lend me some money? You know I’ll pay you back.” Her words came fast, practiced, the same lines Junghyun had heard a dozen times.
Junghyun watched, tolerant for a moment too long. Money had never been an issue for him; his problem was boundaries. Gaeul had a way of bleeding on to other people’s kindness and turning it into entitlement. For years she’d leaned on the family’s patience: promises of reformation, half-completed projects, then desperate pleas again.
Always the same cycle. She had squandered what she had been given, and the company Junghyun had tried to support had floundered under her watch. She’d even filed for bankruptcy when debts ballooned and management failed.
